


Our Kingdom Is Gone

by NovelistAngel23



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (kind of it's more like a curse), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Curses, M/M, Pining, Please Don't Kill Me, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:08:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21517234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovelistAngel23/pseuds/NovelistAngel23
Summary: “Show them,” Felix said.Ashe blinked at him and then started to shake his head. “N-no, I--”“Show them or I will.”Ashe swallowed hard, the bob of his throat making Felix’s blade press even more painfully against his skin. Then, tears dripping, he pulled his cloak back and showed the pulsing, blackened wound in his forearm. His Mark. His Curse.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 25
Kudos: 129





	Our Kingdom Is Gone

Ashe woke to the steady drum of Dedue’s heart against his ear. It was familiar to him by then, Dedue’s gentle, firm, ever-beating heart. Familiar too was the sway of his footsteps, the strength of his hands holding his thighs, the way he swallowed against Ashe’s forearms. No matter how Ashe complained, how he insisted he could walk just fine on his own, Dedue never let him. Every time they traveled, Dedue held him on his back and carried him.

That particular day, Ashe couldn’t bring himself to complain. It was cold. So, so cold. He mumbled sleepily and huddled closer to Dedue, closing his eyes against the wind. Winter in Faerghus had always been so cold… Why now, after the Curse brought it to ruin, should it be any different?

“You’re awake,” Dedue said.

Ashe clung to him tighter, selfishly wishing he could pretend he wasn’t. He didn’t know how long Dedue had been carrying him, how far they’d traveled. If Dedue needed rest, he should get off and let him.

He just felt… so heavy… feverish… his head ached, his eyes burned… His arm…

“W-where are w-we?” he asked. His chattering teeth made it hard to get anything out.

Dedue kept walking. “We’re nearing Fhirdiad now.”

Fhirdiad… When Dedue first suggested they head there, Ashe almost told him he was crazy--he might have, had he not been in so much pain. Fhirdiad was where the Curse was strongest, the capital of Faerghus, the largest city in the country. He’d been so positive it was all in ruin, until Dedue insisted otherwise.

Who knew an orphan like him would be lucky enough to land in the arms of a former retainer to the King of Faerghus, Dimitri himself?

According to Dedue, the center of Fhirdiad was still a safe haven--or had been, last he’d been there. But that was a year ago, and who was to say it hadn't fallen since then?

Still, it was the best chance they had at finding a cure.

“We’ll make camp soon,” Dedue said, drawing Ashe from his thoughts.

He fell into thought so often those days. When his whole body felt horrid, his mind--and Dedue--was his only solace. He buried his face into Dedue’s warm back and nodded. “Please…”

They traveled only a little further, the forest giving way to the cobblestone streets of what seemed to be a long-abandoned village. Dedue set him down on the outskirts, held his hips so he wouldn’t stumble. Ashe’s quiver and bow felt so heavy on his back, heavier than they’d ever been, despite having fewer arrows than ever. Dedue carefully tugged the bow off and set it in Ashe’s hands. “Stay here for me,” he ordered.

A few weeks ago, Ashe would have huffed defiantly and insisted on going along. _I know I’m not as strong as you_ , he would have said, _But I’m not useless._

He’d had sharper eyes then, sharper reflexes. Where Dedue was brute force, Ashe was lithe grace. They were both gentle… when they could afford to be… but in battle they complemented each other.

Or they used to.

Ashe only nodded, but as Dedue made space for him to hide in the brush, he managed the strength to surge up onto his tiptoes and wrap his arms tight around Dedue’s neck.

For a long moment, they just breathed against each other. Ashe was too afraid to tell him to be safe, as if he could jinx it by asking so. Dedue’s arms around his waist were so strong and warm. Ashe thought, in another world, he could live in that embrace. The rise and fall of Dedue’s chest, the steadiness of his beating heart.

He could imagine a peaceful scene, far from the biting winter wind or the peril of their situation, maybe in a kitchen… Dedue loved to cook just as much as Ashe used to, and he could imagine them standing in a warm kitchen, slow dancing to the sound of their heartbeats, as the oven baked a pie, the spicy cinnamon scent of it filling the air. He could imagine Dedue stroking his hair and telling him he…

Dedue held him tighter for a brief second, and then he pulled away.

The cold came rushing back in, and Ashe huddled his cloak around him tighter, curling up hidden in the bushes. Goddess, his arm _throbbed_ with pain. If he closed his eyes, he could feel it crawling all the way up over his elbow, his shoulder, he could feel it in his throat and even between his ears, behind his eyes.

He reached up to hold onto his amulet, his last reminder of his family, and the cool, carved surface of it seemed to make the pain lessen. Other than Dedue, it seemed to be the only thing that did.

Dedue leaned in to kiss his forehead, pulled his cloak firmly around his shoulders. “I will return,” he said, leaving Ashe with that promise and the faint warmth of his lips against Ashe’s feverish skin.

Everything was very quiet once he left. Ashe kept his eyes as wide open as he could, absently running his thumb over his amulet, watching the forest through branches and leaves. He held his bow in one hand, a single arrow notched but not drawn. It took far too much strength to draw it, and Ashe no longer had the endurance for it. Did he even have the reflexes to draw fast enough if something were to attack?

He shuddered to imagine it. The answer was no. He knew that.

But even so, he didn’t fear for himself. He only had enough fear in his heart left for Dedue.

He didn’t know when that had changed. He recalled when they first met… Ashe running from a pack of them… a pack of those beasts, faces too human to rightly call them monsters, the Cursed. Ashe’s feet slipping on the dew-wet grass as he tumbled into a long-abandoned church, hands clasped before him. He didn’t know why he thought the Goddess could protect him, as she’d never spared him before. But still he prayed, begged, _Please, I don’t want to die here, I don’t want to die this way._

He ran to the pulpit, didn't notice the patch of flowers until he tripped face first into it. Too surprised to even crawl out of the garden, only able to scream, _Help me, please!_

Dedue, the gardener, had listened.

Ashe could remember it so clearly, that lukewarm blood splattering on his face, Dedue standing over him, so large and powerful he was almost a beast himself. Roaring as he ripped through the Cursed chasing Ashe, fighting them back. And then he’d looked over his shoulder at him, and his gaze… his blue-green eyes… beautiful.

“Do you… see that?”

Ashe’s eyes flickered open. Oh Goddess. The wind was different, the shadows had changed. He struggled not to panic. He’d fallen asleep, he knew it.

He blinked rapidly, trying to unblur his gaze, refocus on his surroundings. That voice… he’d heard a voice, but where was its source? He searched frantically for it, struggling to keep still. Yes… yes, he saw…

The forest was still as ever, save for movement a few yards beyond. It was a group… of people.

Ashe knew better than to be relieved. Even if not for his “special” circumstances, other humans couldn’t be trusted, not when the world was in ruin this way. He’d made the mistake of trusting other survivors before Dedue, and he was rightfully wary now. He stayed very still, watching as the figures moved through the trees towards him.

“You’re seeing things, Sylvain,” one said, their voice feminine. “This place has been abandoned since The Beginning.”

“I’m not crazy, Ingrid!” the voice from before retorted. Sylvain.

Ashe tried to keep them straight in his head, though it was hard. He was still so tired… Always so tired, he hated himself for it.

“Keep it down,” another voice grouched. Ashe could make them out now… three of them. This one walked ahead of the other two, a shorter man with blue-black hair that glistened like the snow. “We can’t be sure of anything, Ingrid.”

“Aww, see Ingry, Felix believes me--”

“I didn’t say that--”

“You two--”

“Shit.”

Ashe tensed. The man, Sylvain, was even closer than before. He wasn’t looking directly at Ashe, but his general vicinity was close enough to warrant fear. Could Ashe draw his bow without drawing suspicion as well? What if they thought he was--well…

“There’s definitely something there,” Sylvain whispered. His voice turned dangerously low. He stepped from the shadows, and Ashe could just make out his features. A handsome face, bright red hair, and… his eyes glowed with the power of a crest.

_Goddess_ , a crest-bearer? Ashe had never seen one up close. Could he really be in the presence of one? Could he even dream of defending himself against such raw, natural power?

Ashe felt himself trembling as if he were outside of his body. Was it the cold, the fever, the fear? All three? He couldn’t draw his bow. He was shaking too hard.

“Hey,” Sylvain called, his voice sweet, like calling a cat. “Come on out… You’re not a monster are you?”

Felix came out of the darkness too, grabbing Sylvain’s arm hard and glaring at him. He… Goddess, he had a crest too. Ashe could see it in his eyes. He very nearly let out a sob.

Where was Dedue? Had these three killed him? Were they going to kill him next? He didn’t have any supplies to offer them, but… Goddess, maybe they’d consider him better off dead anyway, when they--

“I see it…” Ingrid whispered.

Ashe bit his lip hard to keep from crying. What if he ran? If he took off soon enough, maybe they wouldn’t be able to chase him--even if there were three and at least two had crests.

“It’s… that’s just a child,” she said, dropping down into a crouch.

Her eyes found Ashe exactly, and he nearly yelped as their eyes met. Her expression changed into something soft instead of fearful, and as she moved closer, Ashe saw her crest-glowing eyes too. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“Hey,” she called, “We’re not going to hurt you.”

Bullshit.

Ashe shot to his feet, running towards the village without thinking. He needed to escape, he needed to find Dedue, nothing else mattered. The suddenness of his escape made Sylvain scream, but Ashe didn’t look back.

“Wait!” Ingrid called after him.

He didn’t wait, breaking out onto the cobblestone streets. Now that he was fully awake and alert with adrenaline, he could see clearly where they really were. Just on the edge of Fhirdiad, the sprawling, walled city looming over them like the Goddess herself standing watch over Faerghus. Ashe had no time to stand in awe of it--he’d never seen the city before, never really seen any city before--because as he made it into the village, he heard familiar, blood-curdling screeches echo all around him.

From within the rundown cottages, the Cursed came. Some running on all fours, others stumbling on broken legs, they came, all reaching for Ashe.

He screamed in horror, stumbling back. The Cursed all looked different, and yet the same. Husks of human beings, twisted and broken by violent death, their eyes dull and their teeth falling from rotting mouths. Ashe scrambled backwards from them as they came out en masse, spilling onto the village streets. No, no, where was Dedue, he was supposed to be--

“Get down!”

Ashe didn’t waste time figuring out who said it. He ducked as he was told, and one of his original pursuers leapt over his head, glistening sword drawn. The man, Felix, fought with grace and brutality one and the same. He wielded a thin sword that sliced through flesh as easily as a hot blade through cold butter.

Ashe stared in awe at the display, watching Felix fend off the Cursed, and then the other two joined, each wielding lances that glowed red with some unholy magic. Ingrid became cold as she fought, her eyes narrowed and dark, stabbing through foe after foe. Sylvain became violent, his lip curled in a snarl. Ashe could only watch as one by one, they cleared the village of Cursed.

He hardly had time enough to catch his breath before they were done, panting and dripping sweat and blood in equal measures. Sylvain was the first to let out a groan, standing straight and yanking his twitching lance from a corpse’s chest. He turned to Ashe and gave him a rakish grin, running his hand through his sweaty hair. “Oh, you’re definitely not a kid,” he said. He leaned on his lance, holding his hand out to Ashe. “I’m Sylvain, cutie.”

Ashe blinked at him owlishly, before Ingrid slapped his hand away. “Ignore him,” she muttered while he babied his slapped hand. She held out hers for Ashe instead. “I’m Ingrid. That’s Felix. Are you all right?”

Ashe didn’t have a chance to take hers either however, because as he reached out, his cloak fell from his forearm.

The moment it did, Felix made a guttural sound of rage, whipping in front of Ingrid and Sylvain, his sword drawn and pointed at Ashe’s throat. “You’re one of them,” he spat.

Ashe yanked his hand back as fast as he could, hiding it against his chest. He stared helplessly at Felix, shaking his head. “I’m--I p-promise I’m not--”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Felix hissed, stepping forward. The tip of his sword pressed painfully against Ashe’s throat, pricking the delicate skin, drawing blood. It dribbled down, staining his collar and the stone of his amulet. Ashe felt tears prick his eyes just as painfully. “You bear the Mark--”

“Felix, what’re you doing?” Ingrid gasped, reaching to push his arm down, but he didn’t budge, not even when Sylvain stepped towards him and put his hand on his shoulder.

“What’re you talking about?” Sylvain asked, but Ashe could hear in his voice that he didn’t disbelieve Felix.

This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to die yet, not this way. He’d at least been holding out for the hope that he’d die peacefully, from Dedue’s own hands, laid to rest amongst flowers, or bleeding out in Dedue’s warm embrace.

The tears welled and then spilled. “Please, I’m--”

“Show them,” Felix said.

Ashe blinked at him and then started to shake his head. “N-no, I--”

“Show them or I will.”

Ashe swallowed hard, the bob of his throat making Felix’s blade press even more painfully against his skin. Then, tears dripping, he pulled his cloak back and showed the pulsing, blackened wound in his forearm. His Mark. His Curse.

Sylvain and Ingrid both gasped in horror, and Ashe closed his eyes tight. Then this was it. He’d die here. He didn’t even think he’d lived a good life. He’d been an orphaned street urchin for most of it, until The Beginning made an urchin of everyone, and then he'd lost everything, one by one. A pathetic, pathetic life. At least he’d be killed by one of the Goddess’s own champions, instead of by the teeth of those creatures. That was an honor, wasn’t it?

“Let him go.”

Ashe gasped at the cold fury of Dedue’s voice, his eyes opening wide. Everyone turned to him, even Felix, who stared as if the mere sight of Dedue reminded him of something awful. "Dedue?"

Ashe furrowed his brow in confusion, but he had no time to ask questions. Felix glared at Dedue, stabbing his blade down towards Ashe’s heart, very nearly stabbing through his ribs. “You disappear for a year and return with one of the Marked. Why am I not surprised?”

Dedue’s anger was palpable, radiating out from him in waves. Ashe longed to run into his arms, soothe the building rage. Dedue wasn’t an angry person, and the way his face twisted felt wrong, made Ashe feel nauseous.

He didn’t even acknowledge Felix’s accusation, only reaching to unsheathe his axe and repeating, "Let him go.”

Felix looked from Dedue to Ashe, lips twisted in a disgusted grimace. Ashe prayed he’d back down with every fiber of his being. Cutting down those Cursed was one thing, but another living, breathing human? Ashe couldn’t bear that burden of knowing Dedue would cross that line for something like him.

But Felix didn’t lower his blade--he lifted it.

As it arced down towards Ashe’s still bared throat, everything happened at once.

Sylvain shouted, “Wait!”

Ingrid screamed, “Don’t!”

Dedue roared and ran towards Felix, axe raised over his head.

And something big and dark slammed into his side.

They hit the ground hard, rolled a few feet, the grunt of surprise Dedue let out drowned by Ashe’s scream. Felix’s blade stopped short from Sylvain’s hand tight on his arm, but Ashe barely noticed, his eyes locked on Dedue and the creature on top of him. He scrambled to his feet, reaching blindly for his bow. “Dedue!” he shouted.

The creature was so big, its hulking form draped with a matted blue fur cape, and Ashe only made out flashes of golden blonde hair, glowing blue eyes, as it and Dedue wrestled to survive.

“Get off of him!” Ashe screamed, drawing his bow despite the pain in his arm and the haze in his head. That didn’t matter--all that mattered was protecting Dedue.

“Dimitri, stop!” Ingrid begged, running into the fray and grabbing the creature by the shoulders, as if she had any hope of pulling it off.

But she didn’t need to. The moment she said its name, Dedue froze and gasped, “Your Majesty?”

The creature froze too, and for a long moment, everyone fell silent, staring as Dedue stared up at… Dimitri. At Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.

At the King of Faerghus.

Ashe felt the realization like a punch to the gut as Dimitri sat heavily, straddling Dedue’s waist, his cloak heavy on his shoulders. His bloody, matted hair and the scarred side of his face, eye swollen shut. The corpse-pale skin. That… _this…_ was all that was left of their king?

He felt the urge to cry and laugh in equal measure. Instead his bow slipped through his fingers, and he fell to his knees.

Dimitri paid no attention to him or anyone else, staring down at Dedue with a look of wonder, the glow of his crest bright in the dark winter around them. He shook his head and then smiled, the corners of his lips trembling with the exertion of it, as if he hadn’t smiled in so long he’d forgotten how much effort it took. “Dedue.”

Dimitri lurched down to throw his arms around Dedue’s neck and bury his face in his shoulder, letting out a loud, achy sob when Dedue hugged him in return. Ashe could only stare. Dedue was…

Dedue was...

Smiling.

* * *

Felix glared at Ashe over the flickering of the fire, but Ashe just curled up tight, holding his amulet and staring at the bowl of stew before him. Dedue had helped cook it, so he knew it was good, but he could taste nothing but the metal of blood flecked on his lips from the earlier battle. They’d all agreed to make camp together, just for the night at least, but Ashe felt so wrong there, Sylvain sitting on one side, laughing carelessly about some untold childhood story, Ingrid on his other, looking at him worriedly as if he were a child that needed to be scolded for not eating his dinner. He’d learned that he was younger than all of them, but even so he didn’t think any of them could be rightly called children any longer.

Ashe had only been twelve at The Beginning, when the King and all of his horses and all of his men fell to the Curse of Duscur. It was hard--painful--to believe it had really been four years since then.

He gently pushed his bowl away and curled up tighter in his cloak.

“What is taking them so long?” Ingrid muttered.

Ashe didn’t look up to see where she was staring--he’d been staring all night. The moment the campfire was roaring and the stew was served, Dedue and Dimitri had taken a long walk through the rest of the village. Alone. They’d insisted.

“They're probably fucking,” Sylvain snickered.

Ingrid reached over Ashe’s head to slap his arm. Ashe didn’t even care. He felt like he was going to throw up, and it had nothing to do with his Curse or the stew he hadn’t taken a bite of.

“What!” Sylvain complained. “Those two were attached at the hip, and they haven’t seen each other in a year, you really think--”

“Sylvain,” Ingrid hissed, a warning in her voice.

Ashe buried his face in his knees. It wasn’t… it didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if he and Dedue were… They were really just traveling companions. Maybe he’d entertained the thought that… but that was nothing more than a fantasy. After all, he was Marked. Soon the Curse that had destroyed all of Faerghus would claim him too. At least now he wouldn’t be leaving Dedue all alone once he finally succumbed.

“Um… so Ashe… That’s your name, right?” Ingrid asked.

Ashe nodded, but he didn’t lift his head.

“Well… I’m Ingrid--”

“Sylvain and Felix,” Ashe whispered, pointing at each in turn. “I know.”

“Oh, have my heroic deeds traveled that far--”

“You already introduced yourselves,” Ashe said, turning his head to glance at Sylvain, who went red with shame.

He refrained from rolling his eyes, turning his face back into his knees and staring at them. He was so… frail. He’d always been on the thinner side--growing up the way he had, of course he was--but it was even worse than back then. He was nothing but skin and bones now, struggling for resources and being ravaged by the evil magic within his Mark.

“Well, where are you from?” Ingrid asked.

“Why does it matter?” Felix muttered. Despite himself, Ashe agreed. Why did it matter where he was from? He was just a hopeless wanderer like the rest of them.

“I’m just trying to make conversation,” Ingrid sighed, leaning heavily against the dilapidated hovel wall behind them. “I know things are rough--”

“Rough,” Felix snorted. “Look at him. He’s on Death’s front door step, peddling for coins.”

“Hey--”

“He’s _Marked_. I don’t know what Dedue was thinking, keeping him alive…”

Ashe curled up tighter, trying to ignore the tears pricking his eyes. He hated to admit he didn’t know either. Before Dedue discovered it, he’d been so careful to keep his Mark secret. He'd fought with all of his strength, faked an enthusiasm for food even when he felt sick to his stomach, insisted on helping set up camp and cook, even though the memories it drudged up made him want to curl up sobbing. _You’ll oversalt the food_ , Dedue had told him once, carefully pulling his curly hair back from his face as he cried messily like a child.

It had sounded so ridiculous that Ashe started laughing through the tears, and buried himself in Dedue’s warm, warm embrace. The warmest thing he’d ever known, warmer than his little siblings sleeping on his chest, or sitting in Lord Lonato’s lap as he read Ashe a story, or Christophe’s laughter on a cold day as they stood at the edge of a lake, trying to catch a fish that Ashe was sure would never come. Those memories had gone cold over the years, but Dedue… Dedue was…

It didn't matter. Whatever Dedue was to him, or what Ashe was to Dedue... He still didn't know why, when Dedue saw the blackened, gnarled skin of his Mark, he said, _I won't let you die._

“Welcome back, Your Majesty!” Sylvain called, a purr to his voice that insinuated more than Ashe cared to think about.

He lifted his head to see Dimitri returning, head held high. He looked nothing like the creature Ashe had mistaken him for when he first saw him. His cloak made him seem bigger than he really was, but even then he wasn't small. He almost looked regal, smiling at Sylvain as he neared. He opened his mouth to say something, but Ashe only looked at Dedue.

His expression bled with relief, a pleased smile on his face that Ashe had only seen in their most private, sheltered moments. Those days in the abandoned church, tentatively getting to know each other, Ashe’s feelings deepening to impossible lows. So deep he felt sometimes, wrapped in Dedue’s embrace, that he was drowning in him.

Those smiles had always been so hard won for Ashe… yet Dimitri had wrested this one free from Dedue’s hardened face as if it were barely a burden to try.

Ashe felt sick to his stomach. Sick, so sick. Dizzy even. Was it the Curse or only his own cursed feelings? He was far too tired to differentiate.

“What were you two ‘talking’ about?” Sylvain teased as Dimitri sat heavily beside Felix and Dedue took a seat beside him.

Dimitri grinned at Dedue, the fondness in his gaze so soft that Ashe’s mouth felt cottony and dry. No… no, that was definitely the Curse…

“Dedue told me of his time away,” Dimitri said. “He told me of how he and Ashe met.”

Ashe didn’t perk up at the sound of his name. He was too busy putting his head between his knees and squeezing his thighs together. He didn’t want to throw up. He hadn’t eaten all day, and he knew it’d be nothing but acid. He dreaded the burn of it.

“How did you two meet?” Ingrid asked, her voice hopeful. “You seem very close already--”

“Close enough to keep him alive,” Felix muttered.

“I can explain in the morning,” Dedue said, and Ashe heard the familiar crunch of his footsteps coming near him. “Ashe, are you all right?”

Ashe laced his trembling fingers through the hair at the back of his head. No, he wasn’t. He felt his head beginning to pulse and throb in time with the Mark on his arm. Another wave of pain stung in his blood. Writhing under his skin. He felt a horrible, violent urge to scream, to move, to pound his fists against something and tear it into pieces.

He let out a shaky sob.

Dedue knelt at his side--Ashe could feel the heat of him, the weight--and whispered, “Do you need to be alone?”

He let out another sob, this one less shaky and more pained. “Please, don’t leave me,” he whimpered.

“Is… is he okay?” Sylvain asked, and Ashe could hear him scooting away.

“He only needs--”

“Obviously not!” Ashe heard the _sching_ of Felix drawing his sword, and Dimitri’s sharp intake of breath.

He felt Dedue’s warm, big hands against his knobby knees. “Ashe,” he whispered. “I’m here.”

Ashe looked up finally, and met Dedue’s deep, calming blue-green eyes. Beautiful.

He let out another sob, unlacing his fingers and lifting his hands towards Dedue, who gladly bowed his head so that Ashe’s scrawny arms could go around his neck. He pressed his face to Ashe’s shoulder, and then rose to his feet, taking Ashe with him. Ashe dangled for only a moment before Dedue scooped an arm under his thighs, tucking Ashe’s tiny body against his chest.

“We’re retiring for the night,” Dedue explained as Ashe sobbed onto his shoulder, feeling the weight of the day crushing his lungs. It was all so heavy, always so heavy. His bow felt like a mourning bell as it clacked repeatedly against his fragile spine. “Let us speak more come sunrise.”

Ashe heard the feverish whispering that followed, Felix’s voice loudest because he didn’t care whether Ashe heard him or not. “He’s going to become one of the Cursed before our very eyes!” he hissed. “Are you all fools?”

One of Dedue’s big, warm hands cupped the back of Ashe’s head, soothingly running through his sweaty hair. “You must rest,” he cooed. “There is an inn with clean beds ahead. Can you make it there?”

Ashe nodded weakly, his hands gripping tightly to the back of Dedue’s coat, curling it against his sweaty palms. For Dedue, he kept his eyes as wide open as he could bear. They’d begun to burn again, and in his feverish state, he wondered if he saw familiar faces over Dedue’s shoulder.

Christophe, with his princely smile and kind blue eyes, looking over his shoulder at Ashe with a desperate fear on his face. _Run!_ he insisted. _Ashe, run, I'll be okay!_

He turned his head and saw Lonato, choking on his own blood and looking up at Ashe. _Please… you must strike me down… before I hurt you._

He closed his eyes tight and saw, on the back of his eyelids, his youngest siblings sleeping peacefully, safe for once in their tragically short lives. He almost wished they’d said something the last time he saw them, but that was his own fault. He’d abandoned them there, fast asleep, in the hands of survivors who could care for them far better than him. He’d abandoned them after reading them to sleep and promising he’d be there when they woke.

He’d been Marked by then, it was for their own good. But maybe he was cursed long before that. Maybe he’d been cursed all his life. Maybe that was why his parents died, why the Curse took Faerghus, why everyone he loved left him--unless he left them first.

“You are not cursed,” Dedue whispered.

Ashe blinked his eyes open. He hadn’t… he hadn’t realized he’d been saying any of that aloud. “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

He felt better though. His head had cleared, as if indulging in those nightmarish visions of the past had appeased the Curse in his blood. He nuzzled his cheek against Dedue’s chest, glancing at their surroundings now.

Ashe hadn’t been inside an inn for a long time. His birth parents, long ago, had owned one, and he vaguely recalled running through the table legs, smiling and waving at regular customers, watching his father slave over a hot stove with a bright grin on his face.

This inn was nothing like that. Abandoned and falling apart. The floor was grimy and the walls covered in a fine layer of dust. As Dedue carried him up the creaky stairs, Ashe wondered how they didn’t give under their combined weight.

Upstairs was nicer though, if the body in the hall were to be ignored. Ashe took care not to look as Dedue stepped over it, hiding his face against his chest instead.

Dedue stopped before the door at the end, squeezing Ashe against him. “Would you like a separate--”

“No,” Ashe said, leaning back to look up at Dedue. He hoped the blurriness in his gaze didn’t fog the plea within it. “Please, don’t leave me, Dedue…”

Dedue merely nodded, pushing the door open and carrying Ashe inside. The room was so dark, but it didn’t stink so heavily of blood or rot or dust. Dedue set Ashe on his feet, just long enough to take the blanket and shake off any debris that littered it. Ashe leaned heavily against the night table and watched. Dedue’s muscular arms rippled with the effort of cleaning the bed, his brow furrowed and determined as ever.

Why did he always look like that around Ashe? Why couldn’t he smile?

“Are you all right?” Dedue asked, glancing at Ashe as he laid the blanket on the bed again.

Ashe hesitated. Normally, he told Dedue he was fine. He hated to be a burden. And this was… his feelings were nonsensical anyway. They had so much to worry about. Why did this matter? Why did it matter if he were jealous of his own king, if he’d thought it would only be him and Dedue for the rest of his short life? What had he to be jealous of anyway, if Dedue had never returned his feelings in the first place?

Had he imagined, all this time, that Dedue might love him back?

He was so lost in thought, he didn’t notice Dedue coming towards him until his big hands cupped Ashe’s face. He lifted his head, his thumbs rubbing the apples of his cheeks. He’d once described Ashe’s face as soft and round, like when a kitten curled into a ball. Ashe remembered how deep red he’d blushed, especially when Dedue took his face like this and squished his cheeks.

“Ashe… what bothers you?”

Ashe swallowed hard and pulled his face from Dedue’s hands. “Nothing,” he whispered, turning to crawl onto the bed. He yanked the covers up and crawled under, gasping only when Dedue’s hand grabbed his quiver and pulled him back with ease. “Dedue!” he squeaked.

Dedue’s hands were so gentle as they pulled Ashe’s bow from his back and helped him unbuckle his quiver and set it aside as well. “If you sleep with them, you’ll crush them," he explained.

Ashe nodded, his face turning hot with shame. How foolish was he to forget such a simple precaution? He looked up at Dedue and could have cried at the kindness in Dedue’s face. Why was Dedue so good to him? Why did he care? Why had he carried him on his back all the way from Gaspard to the outskirts of Fhirdiad? In search of what, some fabled cure for this Curse that raked through Ashe’s blood every hour, reminding them both that the days turned to weeks to months, Ashe’s inevitable destruction growing ever closer?

“Why…” he whispered, but he couldn’t bear himself to finish that line of questioning. He knew already what Dedue’s practiced answer would be. He knew how Dedue would explain he couldn’t bear the thought of killing someone as kind and gentle as Ashe. That Ashe, of all people, deserved to live.

Ashe had always known he didn’t deserve anything. That was why the Goddess had slowly stripped it all from him. His birth parents from the plague--the kind of plague that, before this, could be cured--and then the brief respite that was the Gaspard family cut short by another plague, this one with no hope of recovery. He’d lost his brother, his father… And then his future, along with his beloved younger siblings. Through everything, he’d always had them.

Now he truly had nothing. Just as he deserved.

So he didn’t ask that. Instead, he sat heavily on the edge of the bed and whispered, “Why did you leave Fhirdhiad?”

Dedue looked down at him, unsurprised. He’d clearly expected Ashe would ask someday. The two of them had come to a silent agreement--neither would ask the other of their past. If it came up, it came up. But some things… some things were difficult to admit. Ashe could describe the day Christophe gave him his precious evil-repelling amulet before he was murdered by his own friend's hand. He could tell Dedue in clearest detail the day Lonato succumbed to the Curse, and Ashe was forced to cut him down--fourteen years old and barely able to hold his sword. He could even tell Dedue how he’d been Marked.

But Dedue had never asked, and it had never come up. Likewise with Dedue’s past. Maybe he knew bits and pieces--his father the blacksmith, his mother and sister cooking in the kitchen, long before Duscur fell, long before its Curse lay waste to the land.

He didn’t know this. He didn’t know he’d want to.

“Lay down,” Dedue whispered, taking a heavy seat on the edge of the bed, but Ashe shook his head. He sat beside Dedue instead, looking up at him with furrowed brows, lips set in a grim line. Dedue sighed deeply, but they were both well aware that Ashe would do as he pleased. At length, he bowed his head and said, "Dimitri saved my life during the destruction of Duscur four years ago. That is a debt I vowed to pay with my life."

He took a deep breath, and Ashe scooted closer to him, sensing his distress. This was a difficult story to tell. Ashe wished he hadn't asked. As he laid his head against Dedue's bicep, he lifted his hand to touch his chest. "You don't--"

Dedue caught his hand and lifted it to his mouth. He kissed his palm, and Ashe swallowed hard. Dedue's kiss was so soft. Despite his chapped lips and the scabbing scar across them, it felt like petals, or the kiss of a lover. Ashe longed to climb into his lap and replace his hand with his own lips. Would Dedue kiss him like a lover then too?

But he didn't.

"They call this plague The Curse of Duscur," Dedue whispered against Ashe's palm. "Retribution for the massacre your people committed… As such, a man from Duscur like myself fraternizing with the future king was…"

Ashe nodded, his hair rustling against Dedue's arm. He pressed his hand back into Dedue's palm, as close to a reassuring squeeze as he could get, when he couldn't bear to move away from Dedue's kiss.

But Dedue squeezed in return and then, regretfully, lowered Ashe's hand. He took it between his own, so big and encompassing that Ashe's pale little hand disappeared inside them. The warmth of it made Ashe want to melt, so melt he did, nuzzling his face against Dedue’s arm. He looped his free arm--his Marked arm--around Dedue’s and pressed against him as close as he could get.

“At the time… the only thing that mattered to me was seeing Dimitri take the throne. I believed--I _believe…_ he is the only one who can save Faerghus. But my… my presence threatened that.” Dedue’s thumb nervously rubbed over Ashe’s bony knuckles, over and over. Ashe lifted his head to frown at him, but he continued, staring blankly ahead as if he didn’t notice Ashe’s concerned gaze. “As the plague raged on, what was left of the royal court began to argue amongst themselves, point fingers. Dimitri was the only survivor of his family's demise, so… before long, every finger pointed to him.”

Ashe could feel how Dedue tensed against him, and he moved his hand up to squeeze Dedue’s bicep. It was a feeble, fruitless attempt to soothe away the tension. Ashe knew no amount of comfort would take away this pain.

“I couldn’t allow that, so I… I took the blame. I was--I was to be executed, but Dimitri… He…”

Dedue released Ashe’s hand and pressed his own against his mouth, his gaze swimming with some unknown horror. He said nothing more, but Ashe didn’t want him to. He could piece the shards together on his own. Whatever happened--whatever gritty, grimy details were left--didn’t matter, and Ashe couldn’t bear the thought of forcing Dedue to relive them just to sate his own morbid curiosity. It didn’t matter anyway. It led Dedue to Gaspard. It led Dedue to him.

It led…

Ashe frowned deeply, staring at the floor too, the realization tumbling over him like snow, like an avalanche. Throwing him head over heels, over and over, down the slope. Dedue… he’d escaped execution in Fhirdiad.

And now he was returning.

For Ashe.

“You were…” Ashe raised his head to stare at Dedue in horror. “You were going to bring me to Fhirdiad knowing you’d be executed if you returned.”

Dedue took a deep shaky breath. And closed his eyes.

Ashe shook his head, feeling the tears welling in his eyes. They’d known each other for such precious little time. How could Dedue sacrifice himself for him? For a cure they couldn’t even be sure existed? “No… no, Dedue, I… Why--why would you-- You’ve only known me for a few months, Dedue, how could you--”

“Because I love you.”

Ashe froze, staring at him with wide, glistening eyes. Dedue moved his hand from his mouth and met his gaze with his own tired eyes. They were so sure. There was no hesitation there. No uncertainty.

Ashe let out a weak sob and scooted away from him, towards the head of the bed. “Ashe,” Dedue breathed, but Ashe curled around the pillow there and hid his face in it. “Ashe, please, don’t--”

Ashe should have been happy--ecstatic, even--to learn that his feelings were reciprocated, but it only made him feel hollow. Hopeless. “Y-you can’t,” he sobbed, holding the pillow tight to his face. The moth-eaten fabric felt too heavy on his skin, laden with dust still, laden with the scent of death. “You can’t love me.”

He felt the bed dip as Dedue moved closer to him, and he curled up into a tinier ball in response. He wanted to be smaller than his bones, wanted to disappear. Things would be easier then.

“Why can’t I?”

Ashe sobbed again. Why did he cry so much? He wasn't always this way. He remembered when he was young, he could be so stoic. Crying silently so his siblings wouldn’t hear. They were so young then, too young to understand that they’d lost everything.

When Christophe died, he was quiet.

When he killed Lonato, he was quiet.

When he left his siblings, he was quiet as the dead.

But for Dedue, he couldn’t silence his sobs. Like a child, he cried, loud and messy and aching. So aching, he felt it in his throat, tight as if hands were squeezed around his neck, as if something had caught in his windpipe, cutting out his breath. His face felt sticky and hot and…

And when Dedue pulled him into his arms and cooed his name, he let him.

“Why can’t I?” Dedue whispered into his hair. “Time means nothing to me now… Not now. Not when we have so little of it.”

Ashe curled around the pillow and sobbed even so. “Y-you should… You should love Dimitri,” he said.

Dedue’s arms tightened. Ashe felt his heartbeat stutter, and that only made the pain worse. Maybe he already did. That made things easier.

“Ashe… my feelings for Dimitri are complicated,” he explained. He carded a hand through Ashe’s messy hair. “My feelings for you are not.”

“B-but when… When the Curse takes me--”

“It won’t--”

Ashe looked helplessly up at Dedue, the cold air stinging his wet cheeks. He looked up at Dedue and could have collapsed at the gentleness in his face. He was always so gentle, so kind and patient. How could he be like that? After everything?

“ _When_ the Curse takes me,” Ashe said, his voice too shaky to be firm. “You’ll be all alone.”

“The Curse will not take you from me,” Dedue insisted, still running his fingers through Ashe’s hair. “We will find the cure.”

“And if we don’t?”

Dedue shook his head and leaned down. Ashe, despite himself, shut his eyes. Dedue’s forehead pressed against his, and their noses touched, and he felt Dedue’s breath against his lips. He trembled. He longed. He lifted his hands and put them against Dedue’s chest, the pillow falling into his lap. “Hold out for me, little one,” Dedue breathed. “Hold out until morning.”

Until morning? Sometimes, that seemed so far away. Every time he woke up, he felt worse. The Curse had slept under his skin for so many months, so many sunrises and every sunset. It grated on him, and everything felt so heavy.

But morning…

Morning…

Ashe leaned up and pressed his lips against Dedue’s. He gasped in surprise when Dedue pulled him closer. When Dedue’s hands traveled down his sides, to the small of his back, and pulled him into his lap. They were so big and warm, and Ashe closed his eyes tighter at the sensation of them. They wrapped around his waist underneath his cloak, against his thin shirt, and Ashe felt the heat of Dedue’s palms against his cold, cold skin.

And he felt the heat of Dedue’s kiss through every part of him. Inside his veins, alongside his Curse.

Until morning.

* * *

The flapping of a pegasus’s wings wasn’t nearly as peaceful a wakeup call as Ashe had always imagined it might be, especially not when he awoke with his head already pulsing with pain. He woke hot as the fabled fields of Ailell, yet shivering as if he were trapped under ice and snow. He shivered so hard his teeth chattered, and he tucked his tongue far back from them in fear of biting it off.

Dedue’s arms were warm around him, but they weren’t enough.

Dazedly, Ashe rolled out of the creaking bed, wrapping his frail arms around himself and stumbling in the darkness. Only the faint rays of morning light flickered through the grimy windows, but he stumbled towards them in search of the pegasus. He heard its bray from outside.

“Ashe?” Dedue asked, his voice sleepy but tinged with worry.

Ashe turned to him, his thoughts faint in his own mind. Everything felt faint… Everything but Dedue’s wide, surprised eyes when he faltered and nearly fell to the floor.

Dedue practically launched himself from the bed, rushing to catch him before he collapsed. He caught him by the arms, and Ashe fell against his chest, his legs wobbly and weak. “I-it’s… Dedue, I’m--”

Dedue shushed him, wrapping Ashe’s cloak more tightly around his shoulders, bundling him like a child. “We still have time,” Dedue whispered, but Ashe couldn’t tell who he was attempting to reassure.

Truth be told, Ashe didn’t know how much time he had left. He’d been Marked for so long… Months before he met Dedue, months afterwards as they made the perilous trek to Fhirdiad. It was far longer than he'd ever heard a Marked could resist the Curse. He had no idea how much time was left for him.

He only knew he was running out.

“Ashe, stay awake, please,” Dedue whispered, leaning over his head to look out the window. “I need for you to stay awake.”

Ashe nodded, lifting his hand to cling to Dedue’s soft shirt. The cloak fell away just enough to reveal his Mark, and Ashe swore he could see the skin squirming, pulsing, evil magic begging to be released. He hurriedly pulled his sleeve over the wound. He bit his lip hard, hard enough to draw blood, and let the stinging pain clear his mind.

“Gods…” Dedue murmured, drawing Ashe’s attention.

He turned to look out the window too. “What’s wrong?” he asked, leaning against Dedue’s chest and straining to see over the sill. “That… I heard a pegasus…”

Dedue didn’t answer for a long moment, and then he let out a huff. “Onto my back, Ashe.”

He took to one knee and helped Ashe climb on. It was a familiar warmth against Ashe’s chest, a familiar firmness, Dedue’s muscles and his spine. Ashe tucked his head against the back of his neck as he wrapped his arms around it and closed his eyes.

Dedue carried him out of the room, down the hall and stairs. Outside, the air was even colder than the day before. Ashe huddled as close to Dedue as he could possibly get, struggling to absorb even a fraction of his warmth. How very cold the world felt… Stinging like nettle but with no lasting rash. Only the sting, the pinprick, the ice.

But the sound of the pegasus’s wings made Ashe open his eyes and look over Dedue’s shoulder. It hadn’t just been his imagination. In the center of the massacred village stood a massive pegasus, pure white and casually chewing at the scraggly grass peeking through the crumbled cobblestone road.

Ashe was so mesmerized by its presence, its knowing blue eyes, that he didn’t realize there was anyone else awake but him and Dedue to witness it. The others had all already packed their camp, and there was a new face amongst them--a man in knight’s armor, talking feverishly with Dimitri who stared at a letter in his hands.

“Your Majesty,” Dedue called. Ashe felt his low voice rumble against his chest. He curled up tighter as Dedue jogged up to him.

“...waiting in Tailtean Plains--oh.”

The knight speaking to Dimitri froze at the sight of Dedue, and it wasn’t hard to tell why. If it weren’t enough that Dedue’s sheer size dwarfed him, he was obviously from Duscur, his dark skin and pale hair sure signs of his heritage. He looked from Dedue to Dimitri, eyes wide as he made for his sword. He looked at Dedue again, but Ashe squirmed to sit higher on his back, resting his chin on his shoulder and glaring at the knight with every ounce of distaste he could muster. It used to be, he looked like a pouting child when he made an angry face. That wasn’t the case any longer, if the knight’s reaction was any indication.

He swallowed hard, looked at Dimitri again, and move his hand away from his weapon. Dimitri seemed pleased by the action. “Continue,” he ordered, letter briefly forgotten.

The knight turned to him and nodded before seemingly recalling who he was speaking to and bowing deeply instead. “M-my apologies, Your M-Majesty, I--” He glanced at Dedue and let out a huff. “Lady Dominic is awaiting your convoy in the Tailtean Plains. She would have delivered the message herself, but…” The knight gestured to the letter in Dimitri’s hands. “She explains there.”

Dimitri nodded, carefully peeling the tattered parchment--a commodity those days--open to reveal dark, fluttery handwriting. Ashe squirmed against Dedue’s back, straining to see over his shoulder until Dedue relented and set him on his feet.

“Goddess,” Dimitri breathed as Ashe strained to see what the writing said. His eyes were bright with an emotion Ashe couldn’t describe. “She’s done it.”

Dimitri folded the paper again, and Ashe leaned heavily against Dedue’s side, his legs still shaky, his thoughts coming distantly through an impenetrable haze. He could feel the pain of his Mark all throughout him, in his head hottest of all.

Dimitri didn’t seem to notice. He looked to the knight again, a grin on his face as bright as the morning sun over their heads. “Please, return to Lady Dominic and tell her we’re on our way. And…” He looked at Ashe with that indescribable emotion. Maybe… relief? Such relief. As if he’d been holding his breath for months--for years--in search of air, and had finally found it in a shaky, Marked boy curled against his former retainer’s arm. “Tell her we have one already.”

The knight looked at Ashe with wide eyes, and then looked up at Dedue again. He gritted his teeth. “Your… Majesty, should I also inform her of…” He lowered his voice, leaning closer to Dimitri as if it would hide his words. “ _That_?”

Dedue didn’t even tense at the question. Ashe knew he was used to it--that he buried those snide remarks, practiced in schooling his reactions, composed.

Ashe wasn’t. He’d grown up feral just to survive, and he knew well what that rage felt like. That grimace on the knight’s face twisted something primal in Ashe’s gut, and suddenly the pain of his Curse felt more like power. That twisted thing turned and turned--and snapped.

He let out a guttural growl and threw himself at the knight, arms outstretched to claw at his face. “Shut up!” he screamed. “Shut up, shut up!”

The knight screamed as well and might have drawn his weapon had Dedue not looped an arm around Ashe’s waist and yanked him off his feet. Ashe kicked and spit, his weakness, sickness, heaviness forgotten in the wake of this all consuming rage. “Let me go!” he demanded, pounding tiny fists against Dedue’s arm. He didn’t sound like himself, his voice more like a death rattle, raspy, gritty. He sounded like a corpse might, if its dry lungs could hold any air. But even so he screamed and screamed, “Let go!”

Dedue didn’t, dragging him away as Dimitri spoke quickly and firmly to the knight who then rushed to mount his pegasus again. He spared one last horrified glance at Ashe before yanking his steed’s reigns and taking off.

The moment he was out of sight, the rage dissipated. Ashe felt hollow, exhausted. He all but collapsed in Dedue’s grip, breathing hard, trembling. He longed to cry, but the energy to do so had left him. Instead he stared listlessly as Dimitri turned to them, that relief from before all but gone.

Dimitri turned away, looking to his friends who had all seen Ashe snap, Felix visibly seething from the sight. Ashe heard the volume of their argument, but the words evaded him.

He only heard Dedue.

Adjusting his grip to pull Ashe into his arms, to hold him against his chest. He pressed his lips to Ashe’s forehead, to his hair, his fluttering lashes. Ashe closed his eyes and absorbed it, like a weed taking the sun. Too strong. Choking.

“You’re all right,” Dedue breathed against the bridge of his nose. “You’re safe,” he promised. “You’re still here.”

Ashe could barely gather the strength to nod, his hand resting against Dedue’s chest, over his beating heart. Steady, steady now.

“Dedue?”

Dimitri’s voice brought something human out of Ashe. He curled up tighter in Dedue’s arms, hid his face against his neck. Shame. Horror. Guilt. Words weren’t strong enough to describe the squirming sensation in his chest. He’d let the Curse consume him. He’d embraced it. How long… how much longer could he hold it back, now that he’d felt its kiss?

Dimitri and Dedue whispered over Ashe’s head, but he only caught brief snatches of their conversation.

“...only him…” Dimitri insisted.

“...are you...” Dedue breathed. “...days travel?”

“At least a week,” Sylvain said, loud enough to catch Ashe’s attention again. He turned his head to look at him, to see him looking back. He looked so sad. He looked defeated.

“This is never going to work,” Felix muttered.

“But it’s our only chance,” Ingrid sighed.

Ashe felt a hand cup over his shoulder and tilted his head back to meet Dimitri’s gaze. He hadn’t seen him up close before. He’d never been touched by royalty before. He knew, in another time, he might have had something to say about it. But now, with Dimitri’s messy, matted hair and the swollen wound covering his eye, Ashe felt he was only looking at another survivor. The pleading expression on his face made it hard to look away.

“Ashe… I have a friend named Annette,” he began.

He lowered his hand from Ashe’s shoulder, looking up at Dedue as if seeking permission to continue, before meeting Ashe’s gaze again and saying, “She has been researching the Curse since The Beginning, and… She and her friend, Mercedes, they… they think they’ve…” He smiled, so brightly it blinded, so weakly it ached. “They may have discovered a cure. But they need one of the Marked to test it.”

Ashe stared at him for a long, long time, slowly realizing just what those words meant. A cure. A Marked.

A week.

Ashe swallowed hard, turning his head away, staring at Dedue’s rising and falling chest. He couldn’t bear to look up at Dedue’s face, afraid of what he might see there. They had a cure, they needed a Marked, it would be a week’s journey to make it there. He worried if he looked up, he’d see that Dedue was afraid. Just as afraid as he was himself.

He already felt like he was falling apart. The Curse dragged on him. A week seemed so very long to hold out for, and it was only a conservative estimate.

Dedue had begged him to hold out until morning, but which morning? How many more mornings did he have to fight for, how many until he could rest?

At least a week.

"Ashe, I can tell you want to give up," Dimitri said. Ashe didn't look at him. He reached up to grip his amulet--Chris's amulet--to ground himself. "I know… this Curse, it's excruciating, I know. But you could be cured and--and more than that." Dimitri's voice was so full of _hope_. "More than that, you could be the catalyst that saves Faerghus. All of Fodlan has turned its back on us, left us to rot in our own filth… but we can survive. We could thrive--with you."

Ashe could have laughed, might have, had he the energy. Dimitri thought convincing him of his worth would make him more likely to accept? Maybe the thought of helping so many did appeal to him… but no one could be fooled into believing the true prize wasn't surviving his own Curse. What was he willing to suffer for that? Could he bear to be shriveled to bone for this chance?

"Ashe…" Dimitri grabbed Ashe's hand, still clutched around his amulet, and looking at him, Ashe swore he felt a pulse of something bright against his palm. "As the king, I could offer you anything you wish. Even if… even if you don't make it, I'll grant you whatever you wish."

"Gaspard." Ashe said it without thinking. He blinked at Dimitri for a brief, surprised moment, and then furrowed his brow. "M-my… my father was Lord Lonato Gaspard. He and his heir--my brother--are… they're both dead. Gaspard is in ruins. If I die… find my younger siblings and ensure their safety. F-for the rest of their lives." He swallowed hard and turned his hand to grip Dimitri's tight. "And if I survive, make me the new Lord of Gaspard."

Felix scoffed, but Dimitri didn't even look at him. He met Ashe's eyes, his own glittering and hard as precious stones. "You have my word."

Ashe searched his gaze for any hint of hesitation, any possible uncertainty--but he found none. "Then…" He looked up at Dedue, finally, and saw that he was smiling. He smiled back.

It was a slow, inching thing, rare as gold, as diamonds, as the flowers of Duscur Dedue had described to him once, after they were burned to ash. For the first time in years, Ashe found the strength to smile. He found the strength to hope.

"What are we waiting for?"

**Author's Note:**

> ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE AUS ARE MY WEAKNESS, I GENUINELY LOVE THEM MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THE WHOLE ENTIRE WORLD. Anywayyyy, I'm actually super in love with this universe, I have so many ideas and feelings lmaooooo. I can't promise I'll write a sequel, but I do have the ideas for one! If you'd be interested, let me know =DD
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I did writing it! I think it really helped me get my mojo back, and I missed writing DedAshe too UvU Please, if you liked, leave kudos and comments and let me know what you liked! If you have questions or just wanna chat, you can hit me up @novelistangel23 on twitter =D Thank you for reading!


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